Poetrotica
They says poets are just plain horny and boys with guitars are just trying to get laid. Well..I am a poet. And I can write in goosebumps scattered across your skin, like Braille for the words-impaired.
My language could lie in words all over your body. And making love to you would be a treasure hunt, inside our private dictionary of what LOVE means.
In shades of sepia and desire, I’d tattoo my emotions on your shoulders. Are they strong enough to carry the weight of such desire? But never mind that.
I could just hug you like it didn’t matter
that it was not a kiss instead, and watch nerves chase breath down your hairline…
…while my words hunted down the last trace of sentiment, hidden deep in your veins and pinned them to the insides of your eyelids.
I could tell you that your body is the love poem I want to write, even when I am not in love. I could say all of this
with one single touch.
Or I could just write you a poem.
